Harry Potter Until the Music Fades

**Author's Note: **This is my first Harry Potter story, and I'm not going to pretend it's anything special. In fact, I promised myself that I'd never write for this fandom because I didn't want to screw up the characters we all love so much. However, I've always loved Harry and Hermione together, and after _finally _getting to see the movie today, I decided to break my own rule. Like so many others, that dance scene just inspired me, so here you go. Reviews are always appreciated, just be constructive and remember that I've never written these two before.

**Disclaimer: **They're not mine, I'm pretty sure that's obvious. Please do refrain from suing me.

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She was humoring him and he knew that. When he extended his hand, pulled her upward in an attempt to pull her out of her misery, it was clear that she was simply going along with it, waiting for the song to end, or for this strange whim of his to run its course. He'd hoped it would get better when he removed the locket. A smile might have been too much to ask for, but he'd hoped she'd at least relax a little once that bloody thing was off her neck.

Harry hadn't forgotten what an atrocious dancer he was, why the majority of his time at the Yule Ball was spent listening to Ron belittle Viktor Krum. He thought it might be genetic, his inability to move around a dance floor. Sirius had joked once that at her wedding, Lily had spent more time waltzing with Lupin and himself than she had with her new husband. Less embarrassment, less damage to her feet. Harry should've been embarrassed as he pulled her forward, giving them more room to move. This was Hermione, his best friend. He and Hermione simply didn't do things like this. More than that, it seemed a rather odd time to _start _doing things like this.

Except that it didn't. Circumstances being what they were, who knew when their next chance would be, if there would ever be a next chance? And besides, he wanted to make her smile, _needed _to make her smile. Because if she smiled, then maybe he would too. With or without the Horcrux weighing him down, it'd been too long since he'd felt even a hint of happiness, an inkling of hope.

He swayed in a manner so exaggerated that it bordered on absurd. But that was the point wasn't it? Make it so ridiculous that he'd simply _have _to break through to her, if only for a moment. And she knew, Harry could see in her eyes that she knew exactly what his intent was. She knew and she was fighting it, because if she stayed sad or disinterested or annoyed, maybe he would stop.

Harry wasn't going to stop. This was his new mission, until the music faded and the static returned. He had until then to make her a little bit happy, if only for a moment. Just then, getting through to Hermione was of equal importance to getting the Horcruxes, to stopping Voldemort.

She continued to resist, but he saw the cracks forming. He had to look like a fool, and there was no way she couldn't respond. She was smiling now, moving with him instead of just putting up with his movements. They twirled together, laughing for what seemed the first time in years. Harry still imagined he looked like a fool, but if he did then so did she. Except Hermione didn't look foolish to him, she looked happy. At that moment, a happy Hermione was the most beautiful thing in the world to him.

Beautiful, like she'd been at the Ball that night. Perhaps Harry should've told her that, because he didn't think Ron ever had. Thought it yes, that was obvious from the way his jaw had stayed open for so long, but Ron would never have told her, it would've been too awkward for him. The way it'd been too awkward for Harry. Then Hermione twirled around him again and Harry made himself forget about Ron and what either of them had or hadn't said. This would be over soon enough, the sadness would return soon enough, and there was no need to hasten its arrival.

It was strange when the music slowed down and they moved closer together. It felt strange, but it didn't feel as strange as it should have. Harry thought again about how this would look to anyone who knew them, how it would look to Ron. He thought that she must be picturing Ron as she put her chin on his, Harry's shoulder. He thought about Ginny, feeling guilty that he _hadn't _been thinking of her before. He thought about Ginny, and how he hadn't felt anything towards her for the longest time. She'd been Ron's little sister, the sweet, innocent girl he'd rescued from the Chamber in their second year. Ron's sister, nothing more, nothing less. The feelings for her had snuck up on him, he still wasn't sure how. Suddenly she'd been more than Ron's little sister, and the shift in perspective had thrown him off, been so unbelievably strange.

Almost as strange as what was happening now.

The song was winding down, would be over any second now. Harry had promised himself not to spoil this with thoughts of Ron, and he'd failed in that regard. He refused to believe that thoughts of Ginny had spoiled this for him. The feelings for her had snuck up on him last year, seemingly out of nowhere. As the song ended and Hermione pulled away from him, it occurred to Harry how easy it was for feelings to change, to morph into something one never would've expected. What would he have said that second year if someone told him that he and Ginny would be a couple, that Ron and Hermione…?

He locked eyes with Hermione, and something wild and ridiculous and absurd crossed his mind. Maybe she hadn't been imagining Ron during those last moments, with her chin on his shoulder, her breathing so close to his ear. He wanted to dismiss the idea, but something in her expression kept him from doing that completely. He loved Ginny, he really did. But he hadn't always. He hadn't always been friends with Hermione, hard as that was to fathom now. Things had changed between them. He loved her now, and it occurred to him how easy it would be for that love to change. How easy it would be for that line about how they were just friends to become just that, a line.

Hermione knew what he was thinking. He could tell, the same way he could somehow tell that she hadn't been thinking about Ron before, that she was now thinking the same things he was.

The music was gone, the moment passed. She turned to leave, to retreat into herself again so they could both retreat into their own separate miseries. Harry grabbed her wrist. It was gentle, loose; she could get away if that's what she wanted. She tensed, but didn't take her hand back. With the dance, she'd known his intentions, known that he meant to cheer her up. She didn't know his intentions this time. Neither did he.

She hadn't retreated, hadn't walked away. It would be so easy.

"Harry," she said quietly. She wasn't looking at him, her eyes were near where he'd thrown the locket.

She was sad again. The moment was over, like he knew it would be. But Harry couldn't have that, not yet. A tug on her wrist brought her forward, and then they were embracing. He was holding her too tight, the way she did whenever she came flying at him and into his arms. He was holding too tight and he knew it and he couldn't stop himself. It was rare that he'd be the one to initiate a hug between them.

Her head was on his shoulder again. She'd relaxed slightly, even though he hadn't. For no reason at all, he suddenly wanted to cry, cry the way she did every night, when she thought he couldn't hear. He held her and his breath caught as he swallowed a sob. She shivered minutely.

"Harry…"

"I know," he whispered in a choked, broken voice that was foreign to him. He didn't honestly know, didn't truly understand what was happening here, what he expected from her.

Hermione didn't move when his grip tightened involuntarily. Her own hold strengthened in response, and her fingertips ran briefly, comfortingly, over his back.

Harry shuddered, screwing his eyes closed. He wanted to apologize to her, for so many things. Apologize for getting her involved in all this to begin with, for not going after Ron, for the fact that part of him wanted to kiss her. For the fact that what he'd felt just now wasn't one-sided, and he knew that. Instead, he got himself under control and let her go.

"Thanks," he said, unconsciously running his fingers through his hair.

Hermione shrugged uncomfortably. "Thanks for trying to…" She trailed off, gesturing vaguely at their surroundings.

She wore a sad smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Didn't do a very good job of it did I?"

"The dancing or the trying to make me feel better?"

She sounded empty and miserable again. He forced a smile that he knew wouldn't help. "The second one, I already know about the dancing."

Her smile was still sad, but for a moment it really did reach her eyes. Then it was gone and they were back where they started. She moved toward the corner where the necklace had landed.

"Don't," he said quietly, staring at her back. "My turn now."

She didn't argue, didn't try to fake a smile anymore. Retrieving the locket, she dropped it into his waiting hand, returning to her place by the radio. Harry tried not to hear the static that'd been driving him mad for weeks, tried not to feel anything when her fingers brushed against his as she let go of the Horcrux.


End file.

Harry Potter, Angst, Hurt-Comfort